I can hear you.
Sometimes you are all I can hear
As you play across footprints on the sand,
Like notes on a stave.
So, please don't go
Leaving your tune half sung.
I am listening.
Trying to understand your stories.
You throw a shoe upon the shore
And wait for the penny to drop,
But I'm still lost.
Your patience is waning
Swelling, roaring, raging
At the indignity of it.
Your voice has been over used but under-heard.
If I tell you my story
Will you calm down?
That's better.
Play a gentle melody, back
And fore, then I'll begin.
Perhaps when Im finished you can take it far away
To another person stood on the shore
Hoping to hear a story.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
You kissed her
and I cried.
At first, every tear was a memory.
That time at that party,
Missing buses to stay late,
Meeting the family, birthdays, Christmas,
Endless evenings in the garden,
Planes, trains and automobiles,
A Canadian summer,
The four of us, together.
Until that night when you stopped being you
And became 'him'.
Then, each tear was a plan we'd made.
Christmases, holidays in the Rockies,
A life abroad, living in the street you'd build.
A wedding.
You didn't notice I was crying.
You kissed her again and laughed.
The same way you kissed my sister
And laughed at our friend's jokes.
I willed you to look at me,
To ask why, so I could tell you:
I cried because
I miss you.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC